


The War of the Worlds

by itstoobloodyhot



Category: Kind Of - Fandom, Original Work, The War of the Worlds (Radio 1938), The War of the Worlds - H. G. Wells
Genre: also the journalist is now a lady (moi), by jeff wayne, i couldn't stop listening to jeff wayne's album, if george orwell could write a self-insert so can i, recommend listening: war of the worlds, the liam neeson one is fine but richard burton's is better
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-12-28
Updated: 2021-02-03
Packaged: 2021-03-11 04:34:48
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 3
Words: 1,890
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28379340
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/itstoobloodyhot/pseuds/itstoobloodyhot
Summary: No one would have believed, in the first years of the twenty-first century, that human affairs were being watched from the timeless worlds of space...A reimagining of the War of the Worlds taking place just after 2020, featuring slightly changed characters and events.
Comments: 3





	1. The Eve of the War

No one would have believed, in the first years of the twenty-first century, that human affairs were being watched from the timeless worlds of space. No one could have dreamed that we were being scrutinised as someone with a microscope studies creatures that swarm and multiply in a drop of water. The idea that life could exist on other planets wasn’t rare but was mainly contained to stories, dreams about possible futures. And yet, across the gulf of space, minds immeasurably superior to ours regarded this earth with envious eyes, and slowly and surely drew their plans against us.

It would become obvious later that those minds were waiting for our weakest point to strike, and at the end of a year filled with intense loneliness, political, economical, and social strife, and a plague the likes of which we hadn’t seen in years, there couldn’t have been a better time to attack. And so, at midnight on New Year’s Day, a huge mass of luminous green gas erupted from Mars and sped towards Earth. Across two hundred million miles of void, invisibly hurtling towards us, came the first of the missiles that were to bring so much calamity to Earth. As I watched, there was another jet of gas. It was another missile, starting on its way. Fortunately for our attackers, the first night they abandoned their home planet, their missiles were disguised by fireworks and festivities. 

But they continued for the next ten nights. A flare, spurting out from Mars. Bright green, drawing a green mist behind it; a beautiful, but somehow disturbing sight. My friend, Alexei, an astronomy student that I'd shared a class with in our first year of university, assured me we were in no danger. He was convinced there could be no living thing on that remote, foreboding planet. After all, in the 49 missions to Mars, NASA and Roscosmos (and the variety of other space agencies around the world that I don’t care to name) would have found something. He almost seemed excited by the notion.

Then came the night the first missile approached Earth. It was thought to be an ordinary falling star, but the next day there was a huge crater in the middle of the park (a rather tragic waste of native plant life, I believed), and Alexei, curious as he was, came to examine what lay there. A cylinder, almost thirty meters across, glowing hot, and with faint sounds of movement coming from within. Suddenly the top began moving, rotating, unscrewing, and Alexei feared there was a creature inside trying to escape. He rushed to the cylinder but the intense heat stopped him before he could burn himself on the metal.

It seems totally incredible to me now that everyone spent that evening as though it were just like any other. Of course, there were the usual tweets connecting this to political attacks and billionaire CEOs of mediocre tech companies and the occasional post suggesting it could be Banksy (quickly dismissed as impossible, although the artist declined to comment). From my parents’ home, where I was staying alone as both they and my sister were on holiday, I could hear the faint traffic a few streets away, picking up groceries and commuting from work. I could scarcely imagine anything coming of this.


	2. King’s Park and the Heat Ray

The next morning, a crowd gathered in the park, hypnotised by the unscrewing of the cylinder. Of course, a crowd in the park was not uncommon. People often went there for picnics, and the fact that there was a strange new attraction drew them ever closer. As the cylinder continued twisting, more than half a metre of shining screw stuck out and then suddenly, the lid fell off.

Two huge gleaming eyes appeared above the rim, not unlike a fly’s but blown up on a massive scale. A huge rounded mass, larger than a car, rose slowly, glistening like wet leather or muscle without skin. What I guessed was its mouth (it didn’t seem to have any kind of lip) quivered and slathered, and octopus-like tentacles writhed as the clumsy body heaved and pulsated. Perhaps it hadn’t taken into account the effect of Earth’s gravity.

A few brave teenagers (maybe calling them foolhardy is more accurate) crept closer to the crater that the cylinder had caused. A tall sort of pipe rose from it, and from the end of that pipe, an invisible ray of heat leapt from person to person, and there was a bright glare as each was instantly turned to fire. Every tree and bush became a mass of flames at the touch of this savage, unearthly Heat Ray. Seeing and dealing with fire isn’t that strange - it is, unfortunately, a seasonal occurrence, but none of us were prepared to watch helplessly as human beings, our neighbours and friends, were burnt to death in a matter of seconds.

People clawed their way away from the Park to the parking lots, speeding their cars away, and I ran too. None of us knew the range of that ray. Being unable to drive, I was forced to ride along on public transport, the occasional aching slowness of buses feeling at a total standstill. I felt I was being toyed with, that when I was on the very verge of safety, inching ever closer towards my home, but in what was functionally an oven, the ray would search for me and strike, killing everyone else in the bus in a horrific fashion. And my family was so far away, there was nothing I could do to warn them in a manner that did the horror. At last I reached my home, and in the dim coolness of it, the family cat curled around on my bed, I wrote an account of what had happened so I could tell my friends and family before I sank into a restless, haunted sleep. 

I awoke to alien sounds of hammering far too close for comfort and hurried to open my laptop, to log onto Twitter and Facebook (not very factual sources of information, but they were quick and easy ways to get the general consensus on these aliens. Apparently, Australia was not the only one to have a strange cylinder). From there, I could see the daily routine of life; working, eating, sleeping, was continuing serenely as it had for countless years. In the cylinders, the Martians continued hammering and stirring, indefatigable, at work on the machines they were making. Now and again a light like the beam of a warship's searchlight swept the Park, and the Heat Ray was ready to follow.

In the afternoon, a company of firefighters came past and stopped along the edge of the park, to form a cordon. That evening, there was a violent crash just a few streets away, and I realised with horror that my neighbourhood was now in range of the Martian's Heat Ray. At dawn (I was unable to sleep even with medicine), a falling star with a trail of green mist, landed with a flash like summer lightning. This was the second cylinder near me.


	3. The Firefighter and the Fighting Machine

The hammering from the more nearby pit and the sound and smell of fire grew ever closer. We’re supposed to have fire plans, ways to protect our homes or ways to escape — primarily designed for those of us living in more rural areas, surrounded by bushland and not much else. I was alone in one of the backrooms when I heard it — the unmistakable sound of someone creeping into the house. I felt almost nauseous. Then I saw it was a young firefighter, weary, streaked with blood and dirt... I’ll try and transcribe the conversation we had, though my memory is hazy.

The firefighter began, “Anyone here?”

I rushed to the kitchen from the hallway I’d seen her in, pouring a glass of water, “Please, come in. Here, drink this,” She thanked me, drinking it almost in one go. “What’s happened out there?” I didn’t dare go outside. I’d seen what had happened.

She looked up, cold horror in her eyes, “They’ve been wiping us out. There are hundreds, maybe thousands… Dead in a second,” She handed the glass back to me, and I refilled it for her to sip from, “They’re… they’re aliens. In the hoods of those machines… They can walk, you know. Picked us up when we were trying to douse the fires, threw us against trees…” She stared off, and I could almost see the memories reflected in her eyes.

It didn’t seem like she’d talk again without prompting. “I saw another cylinder, last night.”

The firefighter looked up, remembering where she was. “Yeah… It looked bound for Mandurah.”

I remember feeling panic slowly drawing over me. Mandurah. My parents and sister had been staying there — I was due to come down myself in a few days, being driven by my sister… It was only an hour or so away, but I thought it would be safe. It felt a whole world away. The firefighter, in all her kindness, agreed to come with me and had her own car, so we could travel.

The roads were all abandoned. It was almost spooky. We took a detour to Rockingham, trying to find  _ anyone _ , and being remarkably unsuccessful. All of a sudden, there was a heavy explosion. The ground heaved, windows shattered, and gusts of smoke erupted in the air. The firefighter stopped the car and we each got out, looking around in horror. 

One after the other, four of the machines the firefighter had described appeared, seemingly out of nowhere. Monstrous tripods, taller than skyscrapers. With each step they crushed buildings, tearing chunks out of walls, sending the people in hiding (I rejoiced that the firefighter and I were not the last people left on Earth). Each machine had a giant funnel, and I realised with horror that I’d seen this before.

A fifth machine appeared, drawing itself to its full height, and flourishing its funnel high in the air — the ghostly, terrible Heat Ray struck the city, tearing through buildings and boiling the water with its invisible touch. All five of the machines cheered, emitting deafening howls which roared like thunder. 

A shot ran through the air, somehow decapitating a fighting machine. It seemed as though the armed forces had come to take care of this threat. The Martian inside the hood was slain, and went crashing to the road, and yet, the other monsters advanced, causing people to run away blindly (the firefighter must have been in this crowd), but I jumped into some water (there was a nearby lake) and hid until forced up to breathe. Distantly, I heard another explosion, the same as what had killed the first Martian, but the Heat Ray now turned to the sight of it, and the small amount of hope that I’d carried was lost. 

In its journey to the source of the explosion, the Heat Ray swept across the lake, and I, scaled, half-blinded and agonised, staggered towards the shore. I fell, helplessly, in full view of the Martians, expecting this to be where my story ended. The foot of one of the machines came down close to me, then lifted, and the four remaining Martians carried away the debris of their fallen comrade… somehow, by some miracle, I had escaped.


End file.
